


Too Much.

by Whoops_Im_Obsessed



Category: New Amsterdam (TV 2018)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Graphic Description, Hospitals, M/M, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Psychologists & Psychiatrists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22309018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoops_Im_Obsessed/pseuds/Whoops_Im_Obsessed
Summary: Iggy needs help, sometimes.(Read notes for additional warnings).
Relationships: Iggy Frome/Martin McIntyre
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Too Much.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Contains graphic descriptions of a panic attack and someone feeling overwhelmed. Probably don't read if this is likely to affect you, look after yourself.
> 
> There was absolutely not enough Iggy fic in this fandom - that's where I come in. I feel like Iggy is the type of person to burn himself out and not realise until he crashes, which conveniently makes for great angst.
> 
> This may seem slightly out of character, but what can I say, the story stole my hands and wrote itself.
> 
> This is very loosely based on my own experiences.

It hadn't been an unusual day, as such. No more than any other day.

Patients came and patients went, peals of laughter and streams of tears with them, and Iggy carried on as normal.  
  
So why was today so hard?  
  
There had been no emergencies today, no crazy breakdowns or violence - and yet Iggy could barely find the strength to smile at Gladys on the way out; let alone talk to anyone.  
  
Driving home felt like a trance - a dream. And when Iggy arrived he was surprised, as it felt like he had barely left work. His mind felt full and empty all at once and it scared him.  
  
The usually euphoric sound of his childrens' voices sounded like daggers in his brain. He felt himself moving on autopilot through the door, doing his best not to flinch at the sound of it opening and closing.  
  
He didn't even have to open his mouth before Martin knew - because doesn't Martin always know? Just looking at his husband seemed to transmit the hurricane in his head and the whirlpool behind his eyes.  
  
The children were sent upstairs (Sameera had an understanding in her eyes that cut him like a knife) and Iggy was ushered into the sitting room, where he was gently pushed down onto the tartan couch. A hand that wasn't his guided his head far enough between his knees that he could feel the coarse, bobbled material of the couch on his forehead. The unnatural position burned his neck and forced Iggy to actually feel his body moving and stretching. The pressure on his ribcage finally pushed a gasping breath out of his lungs, and it was there, arms shaking, legs feeling like he'd just run a marathon, that Iggy finally released the pressure that had been building up for God knows how long.  
  
On any given day, Dr Ignatius Frome would tell you that crying is healthy and natural; that you can cry from any emotion, and that it's really just your body's way of releasing pent up chemicals from the brain.  
But he wasn't a doctor at home, and on this day Iggy didn't feel natural, he didn't feel released. He felt ashamed. He was a psychiatrist for crying out loud! It was his job to comfort people, not the other way around, and there was nothing even wrong with him!  
  
It wasn't his right to feel this way. The knowledge ingrained in his left brain told him that he didn't need a reason, but the rest of his consciousness screamed at him to be ashamed. He wasn't depressed (anymore), he didn't have anxiety (really?), he wasn't broken (only a little), he had (every) no reason to be breaking down! This wasn't okay, he wasn't-  
  
"Valid."  
  
Martin was talking to him.  
  
"Your feelings are valid Iggy. Everything you're feeling is okay,"  
  
It wasn't. It really wasn't. (He's lying to you, just like everyone else. Heslyingheslyingheslying)  
  
"I'm not lying to you Iggy. I promise. It'll be over soon."  
  
He's lying. He's lyinglyinglyinglyinglying- down.  
  
He's lying down.  
  
Iggy became aware of Martin led down next to him. Became aware of the silence of the room and the warmth of his cheeks and the slowing of his heart. It was suddenly over, but he knew it would be back.  
  
He looked over in Martin's direction, not quite having the strength for eye-contact yet, and offered the barest hint of a grateful smile. Iggy held up his hand, flat open with the palm facing up. Middle two fingers pulled down, pinkie, index and thumb pointed to the sky, and held it there for a moment before rolling over.  
He didn't need to look to know that the hand on his back was in the exact same shape.  
  
And so they fell asleep. Exhausted but supported, and comforted by the knowledge that they had each other.  
  
Iggy needs help, sometimes. Thank God for Martin, huh?

**Author's Note:**

> The description of the hands is meant to describe the asl sign for 'I love you'.
> 
> I literally stuck my head between my legs to try and figure out how Iggy would feel here. It hurt. The things I do for art, honestly.
> 
> Also ayyyy first work of 2020!


End file.
